


Manchester, NH

by pockettreatpete



Series: Manchester, NH [1]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: I Wish I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, I have No Excuse, Infidelity, M/M, There’s a second chapter now, because I am the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-05 22:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20496077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pockettreatpete/pseuds/pockettreatpete
Summary: Sometimes you try things to feel less lonely. Sometimes it doesn’t work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The portrayals herein are based on the public personas of political figures and people share no likeness with their real-life counterparts except their names.
> 
> I swear to god I am actually writing a very sweet (and porny, for sure, but, like _sweet_ porny) Pete/Chasten-story, and this filth just sort of presented itself and demanded I write it. 
> 
> I’m sorry. Like, _really_ sorry.

When Beto and the team poured into the lobby of a Hilton in Manchester at 9:45 on a Thursday night, he quelled a sigh at the sight of Lis Smith and a coterie of other Buttigieg aides already checking in. New Hampshire wasn’t big enough for campaigns not to run into each other pretty much every day, and there wasn’t really much point being annoyed by it. There were worse people to exchange pleasantries with at the end of the day, he reasoned as some of his aides greeted acquaintances in the other group. Lis looked up and nodded at him. He nodded back, and was about to say something in greeting when her phone rang. She made an apologetic face towards Beto and answered the call with a rapid-fire avalanche of profanity. 

“Did they even have time to say hello?” 

Beto turned towards the voice and found himself face to face with an extremely amused Pete Buttigieg. 

“I doubt it,” he said and shook Pete’s hand. “Lis is a force of nature.” 

“Tell me about it. How are you?” 

Beto was about to say ‘good’, he really was. That was what normal, well-adjusted people did when people asked how you were. Normal, well-adjusted people didn’t really run for president, though, at least they didn’t remain normal and well-adjusted throughout, and he was technically speaking to one of about twenty other people in the world who knew exactly what his life was like right now. 

“I’m fucking exhausted, man.” 

Pete laughed. 

“Yeah, I hear you.” He checked his watch quickly, then inclined his head towards the hotel bar. “Quick drink?”

A drink and some good conversation, or half an hour extra sleep. Beto thought for a second, and decided on the drink. 

“Sure. Give me five minutes with the guys.” 

//

Beto marvelled at how easy Pete was to talk to and how good it felt to be talking to someone who understood, really understood, this massive undertaking they were both part of. He’d only planned on staying for thirty minutes and one drink, but it was getting late and he was on his fourth whiskey, which was all kinds of fucked up because he had an event first thing and Pete probably did too. He should get up and head to bed, but instead he made eye contact with Pete over the rim of his glass. 

“It’s hard,” Beto heard himself say, “being out on the road like this.”

“It is,” Pete agreed. 

“It’s harder than I thought it would be.” 

Pete nodded. 

“I can’t imagine being newlywed and doing this,” Beto said, without really meaning to.

“It’s…hard. But Chasten’s on board. I mean, we couldn’t do this if he wasn’t.”

“Sure, sure. Amy’s… Amy’s on board too,” Beto said, hoping he didn’t sound as defensive as he felt. “I just think.” He paused, unsure if it was a good idea to tell Pete these things but not quite able to stop himself. “I think every time someone asks her if running for president is a vanity project for me, she wonders about it too.”

Pete frowned. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, it is.” Beto tore his eyes away from Pete’s concerned gaze and looked into his tumbler. “Just for a second, and just a little, but more every time.” 

Pete was quiet for what felt like forever. Beto was starting to feel hypnotized by the swirling amber liquid. 

“I don’t think anyone who has met you and talked to you would believe this is a vanity project,” Pete said finally. 

Beto looked up and did a double take. For a second he thought he’d seen something, but when he blinked Pete just had the same friendly look he’d had all night. There had been something there, in Pete’s eyes, something meaningful, for just a second, but Beto wasn’t sure what. 

“Thank you. I’m sorry, this took a depressing turn.” He tried to laugh, but Pete didn’t laugh with him. 

“I don’t mind. We spend our whole days being upbeat and energetic. We need to let the other stuff out somewhere.” 

He met Beto’s gaze steadily, and some part of Beto clenched with something like yearning. 

“But,” and Pete checked his watch again, “it’s getting late. We should get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Beto said, feeling weirdly like he’d been somehow cheated. 

//

“I wish,” Beto said as they made their way across the lobby towards the elevators, “that I wasn’t going to bed by myself.” 

Pete didn’t respond, and Beto wondered for a second if he hadn’t heard him. 

“Campaigning is kind of lonely,” Pete said finally, as the elevator doors closed. “People don’t really get that, since we’re surrounded by people all the time.” 

“It is,” Beto exclaimed. 

He was talking too loudly, he could hear it, but sober Beto didn’t really have great volume control, and four-drink Beto might as well be carrying a bullhorn. He went to press the button for the fifth floor, but Pete got there before him. They shared a sheepish smile. Beto broke eye contact to steady himself against the wall. 

“I just wish I could sleep next to someone, you know?” 

He looked back over to see Pete frowning again, but he didn’t say anything. Beto was about to say something more, though god knows what at this point, because the floor for embarrassing himself had clearly fallen out in the past hour and a half, when the elevator came to a stop. 

“I’m 515,” Pete said, looking at Beto in a way he wasn’t quite able to decipher. He fumbled in his pocket for his own key card. 

“519,” he said triumphantly, clutching the card. 

They both took a right out of the elevator and fell into step down the corridor. Beto tried hard not to say anything else stupid, and focused on the feeling when their arms brushed together. Was he crazy? Was there something happening? He wasn’t crazy, was he?

They both came to a stop outside Pete’s room.

“Well, this is me.” 

Beto nodded. “It was really good talking to you tonight.”

“It was.” 

Pete didn’t look away, didn’t turn to unlock his door, just held Beto’s gaze. This had to mean, he had to -- Beto leaned in, suddenly, closing his eyes and crashing into a kiss. One hand landed on the door behind Pete and the other pawed at his shoulder. Pete’s hands came up against his chest and sort of stayed there for a second.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it sure wasn’t to be firmly shoved off and opening his eyes to meet a death glare from Pete. 

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” 

He gaped. Blinked, tried to think clearly. Pete had kissed him back, he _had_, for like a second and a half, and it had felt… Real good. 

“It’s… entirely possible I have,” he admitted, trying not to breathe too hard. 

Pete looked down the corridor, even though he had to know there was nobody there, and back to Beto. Beto felt like he was under a microscope, being scrutinized in singular detail. 

“Inside.”

The door to room 515 closed behind Beto with a heavy click that rebeverated with finality through him. Pete was three steps further into the room, putting his bag down on the bed. He didn’t turn around right away, and Beto studied the tense lines of his back. He wanted to say something, or leave, or both. More than that, he wanted to stay. 

Finally, Pete turned around. He looked angry and Beto wondered if Pete had invited him in to shout at him. For a second it looked like he was going to say something, but in the next Beto’s back hit the wall hard. He blinked, and looked from Pete’s stormy visage down to the hand splayed across Beto’s chest. He swallowed heavily as Pete’s fingers curled into his shirt, twisting it and pulling it upwards. 

Pete’s other hand came up to Beto’s neck, pulling him down into a bruising kiss. He kissed back as good as he could, and opened his mouth when Pete licked his lip. Heat pooled in his stomach when Pete’s tongue curled wetly into his mouth, and he couldn’t hold back a groan. That seemed to spur Pete on, and he yanked Beto’s shirt front free from his pants, shoving his hand up to touch Beto’s chest. He flicked one of his nipples and Beto gasped into Pete’s mouth. 

He could quite possibly have stayed like this forever, with Pete’s hands on him and his thigh working its way between his own, if not for the fact that his pants were starting to feel uncomfortable. 

When his hands landed on Pete’s belt buckle, Pete broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Beto’s shoulder, his hands reaching blindly for Beto’s belt. Pete made much quicker work of it and had his hands on Beto in seconds. 

“Fuck!” 

It’d been weeks since Am— since anyone but himself had touched his dick, and it felt amazing. Meanwhile, he was still struggling with Pete’s belt. He pushed himself off the wall and turned them around, fairly elegantly, he thought. Pete’s eyes, already blown wide with arousal, darkened when his back hit the wall, a little harder than strictly necessary, but he didn’t say anything. 

Finally, finally, Beto got Pete’s pants open and shoved down just enough to get a hold on him, earning him a moan from Pete. Having a dick in his hand definitely felt odd. The velvet-soft skin over warm firmness was elementally familiar, but the angle was foreign. He moved his hand experimentally and smiled when it made Pete breathe in sharply. In seeming retaliation, Pete took hold of him again, twisting his wrist sharply to make Beto’s knees give in and his chest contract in a loud groan, before thumbing the slit of his cock carefully, spreading the drops of precum slickly across the head. 

His left hand shot out to support himself against the wall, while he tried to build a rhythm with his right, but it was really fucking hard when Pete was holding on to Beto’s hip with one hand and setting a rhythm of his own with the other, making Beto harder, drawing him closer and driving him crazy. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Beto ground out, burying his face in Pete’s hair. 

Pete was rocking against Beto’s hands, panting and groaning, sounding increasingly desperate. Beto’s hips were moving of their own volition, fucking into Pete’s fist faster and faster.

Suddenly, Pete’s right hand landed back on a nipple, twisting hard, and Beto barely had time to get out a word of forewarning before he was coming, coming, shouting with the force of it. It only took another couple of thrusts before Pete came, groaning, face hidden against Beto’s shoulder. 

They were still for a minute. After about three breaths, Pete pulled his pants closed and shoved Beto roughly out of the way. He disappeared into the bathroom, and Beto stayed put, trying to calm his galloping heartbeat and wondering what exactly the fuck he was supposed to do now. A minute or two later Pete re-emerged, lobbing a wet washcloth into Beto’s hands. Beto swallowed and cleaned himself off as best he could. Pete held his hand out for the washcloth, and tossed it through the open bathroom door. Beto’s whole body itched with the urge to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence. 

“I don’t do stuff like this.”

“Okay.” 

Pete’s expression was blank but his hands were fidgeting.

“I mean, I don’t run around the early states looking to fuck other people. This isn’t something I do.”

“Well.” Pete shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter right now, does it?” 

He looked calm, but he was swallowing hard and wringing his hands. Beto took a step closer.

“Are you okay?”

A flash of something dangerous lit up Pete’s eyes for a moment. 

“No,” he said, like it was the dumbest question he’d ever been asked. “You need to leave.” 

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, it's getting worse. What the fuck Beto get out of my head and stop pissing Pete off I want to write sweet Chasten/Pete love not this seedy bullshit. (Also I have work deadlines but lol fuck that I guess?)

Pete sat heavily on the bed and untied his shoes before falling back on the comforter. It was just barely 9:30 and he wanted a drink, but last night a drink had lead to three drinks, which had led to bad decisions. He grit his teeth. He’d spoken to Chasten on the phone on his way to the hotel, and the fact that he wasn’t alone in the car was the only reason he hadn’t come clean the second he heard his husband’s voice. 

Pete was good at compartmentalizing. Like, he was _really_ good at it. He could always do his job well regardless of whatever turmoil he was feeling inside, which had come in handy that day, going from event to event, speaking and shaking hands and taking selfies. The unbearable thought that he’d put everything he cared about on the line for a fucking handjob had been pushed to the back of his mind all day. 

Now, the day done, there was no more need for neat compartments and it all came crashing back. Guilt churned blackly in his stomach, and he felt like throwing up. Chasten was joining him tomorrow, and he’d have to tell him, and God only knew what would happen then. 

The knock on the door was so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. He debated for a minute whether he should just ignore it, but when they knocked again he got to his feet and padded over to get the door. He wasn’t particularly surprised to see Beto. 

“Can we talk?”

Pete moved to the side to let him in. He closed the door behind him and waited for Beto to say what he came to say. 

“Look. I…” Beto trailed off helplessly.

Irritation surged in Pete’s chest and he grit his teeth to avoid saying something extremely uncharitable. Finally, Beto sighed. 

“I don’t know what came over me last night. I was exhausted and a little drunk. I’ve really never done anything like that before.”

Pete looked away. “Me either,” he admitted reluctantly, studying the unmemorable artwork adorning the wall. 

He was acutely aware that Beto was staring at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man. The awkward silence stretched between them until Pete’s skin was crawling with it. He tore his eyes from the wall to glare accusingly at Beto. 

“Look, Beto, what do you want here?”

“The same thing you do.” 

There was a steely glint in Beto’s eyes that he hadn’t seen the night before. There didn’t seem to be much left of the insecure, wrong-footed Beto that had clung on to Pete like he was drowning. Beto was back in charge of himself. That shouldn’t make Pete hot. 

It did. 

“I don’t,” he lied. 

“You’re lying.” Beto looked positively feral moving in on Pete. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t have let me in the door. I’ve been thinking about last night all day, and you have too.”

That wasn’t exactly true, in fact Pete had been very specifically Not Thinking about it all day. In the end, though, that did sort of come out to the same, he supposed. Beto stalked even closer, and Pete could feel Beto’s breath on his forehead. God, this was exciting him, and a fresh wave of anger hit him at the thought. He pushed past Beto to stalk further into the room, then whirled around to face him. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Beto’s eyes widened but he didn’t reply. 

“You don’t fool me with your fucking alpha male swagger, you don’t feel any better about what happened here last night than I do. So why the fuck are you here? Did last night awake something in you?” He could hear himself take on a mocking tone that he didn’t exactly love in himself, but he was on too much of a roll to stop. “You feel yourself sliding up the Kinsey scale? You want a gay experience, Beto? You want to fuck a dude? You want to fuck me?” He paused, scrutinizing Beto’s face. A thought hit him: “You want me to fuck _you_?”

Bingo. Beto swallowed heavily and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. Jesus, that _was_ what he wanted. 

“Yes. All of that,” he said. 

Pete felt like reaching out to grab hold of something. The floor was swaying under him and his own breath was too loud in his ears. Beto didn’t look away. 

“Tell me you don’t want to and I’ll leave right now. But I don’t think you can.” 

Beto’s calm was throwing Pete off, making him unsteady. He’d cheated, he’d cheated, he’d cheated, he was about to cheat again, and it felt… out of his control, like it was happening to someone else. 

“Not here,” he said. 

Beto looked nonplussed. 

“My room?” he asked. 

Pete nodded. “I’ll be there in a minute.” 

He knew that he had other options besides going through with it. He could, he should, leave his shoes off and the lube in his toiletries and stay in his room. He knew there was no other logical course of action, but he also knew, deep in his bones, he wouldn’t. Going to Beto’s room with a condom and a bottle of Back Door in his pocket seemed like an inevitability, no matter how much he wrestled with it. 

Rustling through his toiletries for what he needed, he tried to imagine just not going. Staying in his room, jerking off and getting Beto out of his system, not having to confess to anything more tomorrow than a mutual handjob. It didn’t seem like much more than a theoretical exercise. 

He’d always been someone who made good choices, he reflected as he was tying his shoes back up. He’d made the responsible choices, stayed single before he was out, stayed off the seediest apps, barely touched a man until Chasten. He’d had opportunities to stray before, but they’d never seemed remotely appealing. He had always made good choices, until last night, and now he was about to make it two in a row. And he still couldn’t fucking stop himself. 

Beto went in for a kiss when he let Pete in. He was clearly more on his feet tonight, taking control of the kiss, pushing his tongue into Pete’s mouth. Pete let him have it for a minute, then pulled back. He was horny and shameful and angry, and being kissed like it meant something made his insides twist with something ugly. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Beto hesitated, but only for a second, before unbuttoning his shirt. Somewhere in the back of Pete’s head the thought registered that Beto didn’t look as sure about what was about to happen as he had ten minutes ago in Pete’s room. He watched as Beto got out of his shirt and halting briefly before opening his pants. It only took a couple of minutes before he was in his underwear. Pete gave him a once-over. Everything still felt kind of hazy, but he was hard and so, by all appearances, was Beto. He took a deep breath and started undressing. 

“Get a towel,” he said, untying his shoes and toeing the off. By the time he’d gotten his clothes off Beto was back, clutching a bath towel and looking nervous. 

For a second Pete considered ignoring all the signs of someone having second thoughts, but the responsible adult in him surfaced unbidden: 

“Are you okay?”

Beto seemed to stand up straighter at that, as if he wasn’t tall enough with a slouch, and nodded firmly. 

“Okay. Take those off and get on the bed, on the towel. On your back.” 

He hesitated. “On my back?” 

Pete tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “To start with.” 

He settled himself between Beto’s spread legs, pushing them wider and directing him to plant his soles on the mattress. He’d never been anyone’s first, but he had some idea of what it entailed and was formulating a game plan. He slicked up his hand and carefully reached for Beto’s cock. It’d felt sizeable the night before, and had been hard when Beto took his clothes off, but nerves seemed to have gotten the better of him because now it was soft and vulnerable in his hand. He gave it a few careful strokes and felt it harden under his fingers. Beto’s eyes fluttered closed. He took a deep breath. Pete wildly considered just getting him off like this and leaving, but his own dick was very much _not_ soft and vulnerable, and the idea of being inside Beto was stuck to his brain. It felt like hunger, or maybe more accurately like thirst, and he had the opportunity to quench it. 

He let go for a second to get lube on his other hand, before taking hold again, jerking slowly with his right hand and letting the fingers of his left hand skim over Beto’s balls, then further back. Beto inhaled sharply when Pete’s thumb ghosted across his hole, then came back with more pressure before circling the muscle slowly. 

“Relax,” Pete whispered, just barely keeping the tense edge of impatience out of his voice. 

“You relax,” Beto muttered without opening his eyes and Pete bit down on a chuckle despite himself. 

“It feels better if you can manage to relax,” he said, giving a firm jerk on Beto’s dick and pushing his index finger just barely inside at the same time when Beto gasped. “Like that.” 

“Not gonna lie, doesn’t feel fantastic,” Beto said tightly. 

“Just wait.” 

Shit, he was really tight and Pete wished he had a popper. He hadn’t used them for years, and had never really liked them when he tried, but fuck, they would’ve made this easier. He pushed carefully deeper, and kept working Beto’s dick. Little by little, the pressure seemed to ease, and he crooked his finger a little, fairly certain he was in the right spot. 

“Holy shit!” 

Beto’s hips jerked seemingly of their own accord and his eyes shot open. Pete tried to tamp down his smug triumph, but it felt too good to hide entirely. This guy, who’d come in to his room and tried to take control of him, was completely at his mercy. His eyes were blown wide with sensation he clearly hadn’t been introduced to before. Pete had done that. 

“Do that again.”

Pete obliged, and this time he was ready for the shocked movement of Beto’s hips, tightening his grip on his cock. 

“Fuck!”

“That’s the general idea,” Pete said, before he really knew what he was saying, and Beto gave a breathless laugh that Pete couldn’t help join. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to be happy about this, it wasn’t supposed to be _fun_. 

He pulled his finger out slowly and pressed back in with two and a fresh coat of lube. The shot of gratification from his prostate had definitely helped Beto relax, because it didn’t actually take very long before he could push back in with three fingers. Beto rocked back against him, panting delightfully. 

“God, Pete,” he groaned when Pete scissored his fingers to stretch him out, “fuck me, do it.”

Pete choked back a moan at that. He was so hard he was in actual pain, and he wasn’t convinced he’d last long. He pulled his fingers out carefully. 

“Okay, turn over. Get a pillow under the towel and under your hips.” 

He pushed Beto’s legs as wide as they would go, then got the condom on and slicked himself up as much as he could. He pushed inside in one long slow stroke. He couldn’t hold back the groan that felt like it had started from the soles of his feet. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” Beto breathed. 

“Yeah,” Pete ground out. 

It actually felt fucking amazing, tight and hot, and Beto spread out underneath him. He settled his hands on Beto’s hips, holding tightly. He pulled out, a slow delicious slide, and pushed back in, wringing a moan from Beto. God, this was going to be over really, really soon. Shit. He tried changing his angle slightly, and knew right away he’d hit it, because Beto’s whole body seized and he gave a half-strangled shout. Pete picked up the pace, trying to make sure he hit the right spot every time, earning deep groans from Beto every time. It felt incredible, and he needed to come, really badly. 

“Touch yourself,” he said, and Beto obediently pressed his hand in between himself and the pillow, lifting his hips a little to make room. Pete eased off to let him get there, but kept pressing inside. 

“God, Pete, I’m going to come.” Beto’s moan were starting to sound like sobs, and Pete couldn’t hold back. 

“Do it,” he said, pushing inside a final time and coming. It only took a few seconds before Beto came with a helpless groan, tightening around him. 

Pete held himself upright and stayed still for a few beats before pulling out slowly, holding on to the condom. He flushed it down the toilet, which he knew he wasn’t supposed to, but he felt a morbid need to hide the evidence. He cleaned himself up and washed his hands meticulously. 

Beto was still on the bed, but he had his boxers on and was reading something on his phone. Pete picked up his clothes and started dressing. The silence wasn’t unpleasant but he felt like he needed to say something anyway. 

“So we can agree that this isn’t happening again, right?” 

Pete kept his eyes focused on his shirt buttons, so he didn’t know how Beto looked when he said “yeah”. He barrelled on anyway.

“Beause this is fucking crazy and we can’t --”

“I said ‘yeah’, Pete,” Beto interjected. 

Pete looked over. Beto was watching him in a way that could only really be described as ‘wary’, and worry hit Pete between the eyes. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Beto said, and if he was lying, Pete couldn’t tell. “I’m just… I feel like I’ve been drunk for twenty-four hours and I just sobered up real quick.” 

Pete nodded. That would be pretty much exactly how he felt, too. 

“Yeah. Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m gonna…” 

“Yeah. Hey,” Beto added, “don’t forget --” 

He held out the bottle of lube. Pete took it and tucked in his pocket 

“I guess… I guess I’ll see you in Iowa next week, probably.” 

Beto nodded. “Probably.” 

“Good luck,” Pete offered, feeling absurd. 

Beto gave a small smile. 

“You too.” 

The door closed behind Pete with a heavy, satisfying click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's another chapter coming in like probably a couple of days because if you think Pete isn't confessing all to Chasten the second he gets a chance you don't know the Pete that lives in my head.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tender Mercies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496049) by [waltwhitmans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltwhitmans/pseuds/waltwhitmans)


End file.
